Chapter 533 — Name, Age, Mark

CHAPTER 533

Name, Age, Mark

“Name,” Clerk Pan said, without looking up.

“Shi Feng,” Sima Lan said.

“Age,” Clerk Pan said.

“Twenty-one,” Sima Lan said.

“Realm,” Clerk Pan said.

“Not stated at the candidate's request,” Sima Lan said.

The clerk's brush paused over the register. He was a thin man in a Sky Pavilion robe, and the brass plate on his desk read CLERK PAN. Behind him the great hall of the Qingyun regional tower rose under its glass dome, six hundred empty seats climbing in rings toward the light.

“The record takes name, age and Mark,” Clerk Pan said slowly. “Realm is optional. But the Pavilion usually asks...”

“Usually,” Sima Lan said. “It's optional. You've just said so.”

Clerk Pan looked up at the grey sword, the black iron badge and the young woman holding a slate at his counter. Recognition changed his expression. Shi Feng saw that the clerk remembered Sima Lan very well and wasn’t pleased to meet her again.

“You,” Clerk Pan said. “The abacus girl. From the Assembly.”

“Attendant,” Sima Lan said. “And you miscounted the showcase seats by eleven.”

“It was nine!” Clerk Pan said.

“It was eleven. You wrote nine on the receipt, and I corrected it in the margin,” Sima Lan said. She slid a sheet across the counter. “The fee for the 3 Mark is forty thousand. Under Examining Elder Yin Zhao's seal, the Hall pays one tenth. Four thousand. The seal is attached, the clause is quoted, and I would like a receipt that says so.”

Clerk Pan read the paper. Sweat had started on his upper lip.

“Four thousand,” Clerk Pan said faintly.

“Counted twice,” Zhu Liu said from behind her. He was carrying the stone chest in both arms, and he looked as if he'd rather carry a coffin.

Shi Feng waited while they settled the fee. He Zhen had left their patched boat in the yard and was arguing with a berth clerk outside. Lin Langtian came as a private citizen, spent the Hall’s travel allowance on sacks of herbs, and now sat on the inn roof across the square eating a potato. Apparently being private required a good view.

The candidates' board hung beside the counter. Seven names were painted in white on black wood.

Cao Yuanzhi, 101. Fei Yunlan, 94. Zhong Dehai, 118. Hao Moxian, 127. Two more. And at the bottom, in fresher paint: Shi Feng, 21.

“Twenty-one,” Cao Yuanzhi said dryly from behind him.

A tall old man in a plum robe stood in the aisle, hands tucked into his sleeves. His pointed beard twitched as he examined Shi Feng’s fresh name on the board. He was openly offended by the age written beside it.

“Cao Yuanzhi,” Cao Yuanzhi declared. “A hundred and one years. Seventy-eight of them at the furnace. And the Pavilion lets a boy of twenty-one walk in beside me. Next they'll certify the sweeper's cat!”

“Master Cao,” Shi Feng said politely.

“You'll waste a Soul Formation furnace,” Cao Yuanzhi said. “Do you know what the herbs cost? A Golden Core boy and a sack of luck, not knowing the height of heaven or the depth of the earth!”

“Cao,” Fei Yunlan interrupted. “Let him alone.”

Fei Yunlan was small and round, her grey hair pinned in a bun. She held a bag of sweet seeds and spat each husk neatly into a paper cone. Unlike Cao Yuanzhi, she looked amused by the youngest candidate. Her welcome sounded warm and practical.

“I was called a prodigy at ninety-four, you know,” Fei Yunlan said. “Nobody believed it then either. As the saying goes, heroes come from the young. Sit down, child. You're making the old men nervous.”

“I'm not nervous!” Cao Yuanzhi said.

“Your beard is,” Fei Yunlan said.

Somewhere above the dome, a bell rang once. The hall went quiet.

Two figures came down the central stair.

Both wore white robes with gold collars. The first was an old man with a grey, square beard, carrying a flat box of yellowed registers under one arm. The second was a thin woman with a rod of black jade in her hand and no expression at all. Examining Elder Yin Zhao walked a respectful step behind them.

Shi Feng felt it before they reached the floor.

Their Spirit Sense swept across the hall, passing Cao Yuanzhi and Fei Yunlan before reaching Clerk Pan. He flinched. Shi Feng felt how thorough the examination was, heavier than Master Ruan’s sweep. These two wouldn’t overlook a careless mistake in his concealed aura.

Hold, Shi Feng thought.

He kept his aura exactly where the world expected it, at late Golden Core. He let nothing show above it. The sweep reached him, hesitated for the width of a breath, and slid on to the next chair.

The old examiner's eyes moved to him anyway, then away.

“I am Examiner Ye Chengfeng,” Ye Chengfeng said, his voice carrying easily through the quiet hall. “This is Examiner Bo Ling. We have come from headquarters at the Pavilion's request. We will not be unkind. We will not be generous.”

“We will be accurate,” Examiner Bo Ling said.

Yin Zhao stepped forward, his gold-bordered sleeve swinging.

“Day one is theory and herbs,” Yin Zhao said. “Day two is the furnace. The theory round is closed. The herb round and the furnace will be open to the public, by the Pavilion's wish.”

A murmur ran around the empty seats.

“Public?” Cao Yuanzhi said. “For the 3 Mark?”

“The region keeps asking,” Yin Zhao replied, giving no hint of his own opinion. “The Pavilion has decided to answer in public.”

Sima Lan had stopped writing. She came to Shi Feng's side and spoke without moving her lips.

“Public means the list goes north,” Sima Lan whispered. “Every name in this hall, in the Pavilion's own hand.”

Shi Feng remembered an old man's stick left by an inn door. Be slow. Be late. Let them come to the door.

“Then we'll be slow,” Shi Feng said.